


From Ashes

by Dawnshadow



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: 404 WoL Not Found, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bittersweet, Canon-Typical Behavior, Gen, No Romance, Tempering, mercy killing (discussed/referenced), negotiation, thancred needs a pep talk and a hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 19:03:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20051011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawnshadow/pseuds/Dawnshadow
Summary: The Ascians have summoned their god, and the scars on Thancred's soul resonate to His song. The twins have a plan that might spare his life, but only at costs far too great to consider under any other circumstance.Sacrificing oneself is difficult. Sentencing a dear companion to a fate most would consider worse than death a thousand times more so.





	1. For No Other Way Remains

**Author's Note:**

> This is an excerpt/scene that got caught in my head. I have ideas of the surrounding story and plan to write it eventually, but I'm a new player and not done with the MSQ and there's things that I know I don't know that I know come up in expansions I haven't reached yet that would be very relevant in this story.
> 
> I ought to wait, but this story is burning in me and I need to put it down in words. 
> 
> Therefore, it takes place in an ambiguous alternate timeline that diverged at some point after the end of the 2.0 main storyline. Things have gone off the rails and, despite the Scions' best efforts, the Ascians summoned their god. Any discrepancies between this and canon are a result of this divergence. The Scions have their ShB class changes anyway because tanks are awesome.
> 
> Also, if you don't remember the lore behind Phoenix you should refresh your memory (Coil of Bahamut if you want to see it in-game or any wiki if you just want the lore) otherwise you'll miss a huge part of the plot.

Thancred dared not drink, no matter how much he wished the relief of it. Not now, nor ever again in his life. Not when one slip, one moment of absent mind, could mean the end.

He'd failed once again. They'd failed. The ritual had succeeded. Zodiark had been made whole. And this time… this time, Thancred's life would one day soon be forfeit. The Ascian god's presence lingered in the back of his mind, searing cold and sharp and crystalline. For now, he was safe. Ensconced within the Rising Stones, behind every warding the Scions could collectively muster, buried in research, doing everything he could to give the other Scions a second chance.

For later, Urianger had made a potion, a vial small enough to be held between two fingers. He'd promised it would be painless—if bitter-- when the time came. Thancred trusted his alchemical prowess. It was the greatest kindness anyone could have offered.

He turned the page and noted down another possible lead, another hint to how it _might_ be defeated. This isn't how he'd have chosen to go out, reading dusty books while Zodiark's very existence washed over his soul's cracked defenses as a river washes over the stone beneath. No matter how he yearned to be the wall that stood between the other Scions and the enemy and fight them until he could no longer muster the strength to raise his gunblade, he had once worn their mask and robes; Zodiark knew His own. But at least Thancred would die as _his own self_, in outright defiance of the god's call—the potion would ensure that. And to his dying breath he would resist them in every way yet available to him. It was the very least he could do.

His linkpearl chirped. He answered.

"Thancred." Alphinaud's voice was hushed, and echoed strangely. "Are you alone?"

"Yes. Why?" He marked the place in the books. "Do you have need of me?"

"Alisaie and I might have a solution to your… problem. Come to the storage rooms. Tell no one that you go."

Thancred frowned, suspecting trickery of some sort. But the Ascians were not technologically oriented, and he doubted the twins could surprise him.

"You summoned a primal," Thancred repeated in flat disbelief, no longer certain he wasn't having some bizarre dream. But one's nose did not itch from stirred-up dust in dreams.

The twins stood before the door to a long-disused storeroom deep beneath the Rising Stones, exhausted, covered head to toe in dust and what seemed to be ash. The hall was far warmer than it ought to have been. "A minor one," Alphinaud said, far too casually for the situation. As if summoning minor primals was something one _did_.

"And you're not—"

"No, we're not tempered. He doesn't want worshippers." Alisaie fiddled with her sword. "But a soul can only be tempered once. We had words with him, and he's sympathetic to your plight. In Eorzia's best interest, he's consented to consider one, single, _incredibly devoted_ worshipper."

Thancred stared at them, speechless for several seconds, following their logic. He stood now flawed, influenced, but not tempered. Were he claimed by this primal, then Zodiark would have no more hold on him. "_How_?" he finally asked.

"We can't tell you. Or anyone, not even the other Scions."

"It's a secret, you see—"

"And if you don't accept this, we probably have to kill you."

Thancred nodded. "The Ascians must not know of this primal's existence." Just having _him_ here was too much of a risk, he thought, but it was too late now. "Does anyone else know about this?" he asked. "That you can summon a primal?"

Alphinaud shook his head. "Only us. Us, and…" He frowned, allowing his words to hang for some seconds. "No. Only us." Alisaie nodded in agreement.

"And you think that this… whatever you have in that room will _allow_ me to fight the Ascians?"

"Yes. Of that we have no doubt."

Thancred closed his eyes. Breathed. The heat radiating from the storeroom seemed to drive away the cold of the Ascian god. This Primal was far weaker than any he'd ever heard of; of course he would be, summoned by those who did not truly worship him, presumably with no sacrifices made. But this close, the weaker primal's power still won out.

"If I must die or lose myself here, then, let it be known that my last act was this—to choose to face my fate freely. To continue the fight, even if I must give up my _self_ in the process."

The twins nodded, solemnly, and opened the door for him.

Thancred heard the latch close behind him as he stood face to face with a god. He knew no songs of a primal that took the form of a fire-born bird. But that lined up with what the twins had said—no worshippers meant no stories. He bowed his head and waited for the end to come.

"You are Thancred." It was a statement, not a question. Thancred looked up again when nothing more happened; the primal seemed to be studying him. "Tell me. Why do you seek my curse? Why do you wish for my fire to burn away your free will?"

Well. That hadn't been what he was expecting. "Because if I do not," he answered, still wondering if he were dreaming, "I will be forced to choose between death and being tempered by the Ascian god, and that is no choice at all. The fact that you have asked that question, that you have not already claimed me as your own though I presented myself before you, marks you as unusual among your own kind. The fact that you do not seek worship speaks all the more in your favor."

"You truly desire this?"

"The way a fox _desires_ to gnaw off its own leg when caught in a trap." He frowned. "That is to say, not in the least, but the current peril is in part the result of my own weakness, my failures, my mistakes. This is the only way left to me if I wish to make up for them. I'm willing to die for the sake of Eorzia; I must also need be willing to live for it, no matter what price I must pay."

"And by what means were you caught in this trap?" The bird was still watching him, unblinking.

"I went to learn what I could about the Ascians, when first we discovered them. Alone." Thancred's smile was bitter. "I received for my troubles a thorough lesson in how and wherefore Ascians possess people. While I am long freed, such violation changes a person. Leaves them vulnerable to further possession, tempering… and in particular the power of the god the fiends serve. One we did not prevent them from summoning, who will blanket the world in umbral dark for eternity if not stopped. It's only fortunate that I was not on the front lines when he was summoned, else I would already be lost.

"But what of you, Primal? How have you remained unknown for all this time? How did they discover you, and how did they summon you without being tempered?"

"They are not tempered because I did not wish them to be. Do not fear for them; I would never do them harm." The primal spoke with such conviction that Thancred did not doubt it was the truth. "As for how they knew of me, how they summoned me—those are mysteries that will never be revealed to you, Thancred. Once you are tempered, you will no longer be _capable_ of so much as musing over the possibilities, for it is my will that you must not. Do you find this acceptable?"

Thancred shuddered at the primal's words, imagining what it might be like (remembering the feeling of void creeping over skin and mind and soul and plunging him into darkness without end.) "My duty—one of my duties-- is to seek knowledge. The thought of being barred from even _thinking_ about something is immensely disturbing."

"It is disturbing." The primal agreed, to Thancred's surprise. "But is it _acceptable_?"

"I… don't know." Thancred wasn't sure what this was. A test? A negotiation? Could one _negotiate _the surrender of one's free will? "What other limitations do you have planned?"

"As few as possible, but the ones I must impose will be difficult for you, and it will be a struggle that never ceases. I shall be the most glorious god you could ever imagine. Your soul will yearn to exult in my name, to sing of hope and life and rebirth, to convert mortals to my magnanimous cause, yet the words will never pass your lips. You will never speak of my existence or name me; you will pretend my gifts are mortal magic to those who know not that you are tempered, and find excuses for why the only aether you can use is that of fire and life. It will be your nature to worship me, as certain as the rising of the sun and the coming of the tides, and this nature will _never_ be fulfilled. And you will have absolutely no choice in the matter."

"I don't _like_ it." Thancred frowned. "That's not quite true. It's a relief that you won't let me do most of those things. Knowing that I won't be forced to convert anyone else." (Ifrit. He'd been too late. Failed them. Mercy killings, the only thing one could do to help those who were tempered [and here he was all but courting a primal], blood of innocents on his hands, only… only him, it had only been him, hadn't it? He'd been sent alone.) "I don't enjoy the idea of having my actions and thoughts limited. But yes," he finally said. "I can accept such conditions, so long as I may still aid the Scions and fight for Eiorzia."

"It will be torment after you've been converted."

"I can live with it. I _will_ live with it. I've failed too many times; I know what torment is."

The primal looked at Thancred. "Why do you stand here now?"

"Because Zodiark will temper me if I don't die first, and this is… an option." His linkshell pinged; he ignored it.

"Then why do you not _die_?"

"Eorzia needs to be protected, and there are so very few of us left." (Rows of tombs. Familiar names. Faces he would never see again.) "They can't afford to lose another because of a stupid mistake I made years ago. I can't be weak, not now. If it costs me my free will, then so be it."

(He had almost launched his own investigation into the Garleans' informant before Y'sholta stopped him and took him aside. She'd stayed with him until he could bring himself to pretend everything was okay again.)

The primal was looking at him. Looking through him. He felt the heat intensify. "That is not weakness, Thancred. You have failed and learned and grown." The primal reached out with a wing, brushed feathers over his brow. "Weakness would be to fail and give up. You have lost. You have been broken. You have fallen. But every time, you stand up again. You take up your blade, you face your enemy. Even in the face of that which you most dread, you did not seek the peaceful, quiet death your fellow offered you. And now you have risked your soul, your will, your very _self_ in the name of your fellow Scions and Eoriza herself. That is not weakness. _That is resilience_. You do not bear those marks upon your neck for nothing."

Thancred was startled by the unexpected touch. Warmth spread through him; he felt half-forgotten aches ease. He was startled even more when he found his mind and thoughts still his own, even as the primal spoke of him in ways he hadn't considered. Resilient. He liked that. "Ironic, that a god should express his faith in me."

"You will heal, and one day come to have faith in yourself once more. Not because I force you to. But because you _are_ strong, and one day you will know it."

"But to do that—to heal—I must first live. And to live…."

"Then you must first be tempered, so that your soul does not fall prey to a god far darker." The primal stepped away. "I have made my decision. For you I will do this. For Eorzia. When you are ready—if you are ready, if you truly wish this-- step forward. Do not kneel, do not bow your head, for you do not submit to this, but accept it with eyes open. You will bear my curse for the rest of your mortal existence. I shall burn away your free will and replace it with my own. And in this you will be a weapon that I shall turn upon the darkness. Do you understand?"

"Yes. I understand what it is I have asked of you." And he truly thought he did. (Never would he be able to understand how wrong he was.)

"I promise you this comfort, however: I shall never place you at odds with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. Ever will your goals and theirs align, so long as they remain true to their spoken purpose."

And that was the only gift Thancred could ask for. He stepped forward, and trembling wings closed tightly around him.

"May the Twelve forgive me," the god murmured. And then all was fire and light and glory.


	2. Fire and Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'sholta senses a disturbance in the Aether.

Reading to Y'sholta pained Urianger at times. The language the books used was _distinctly_ unrefined—one could paint such a rich representation of reality with carefully selected words, and here the authors had chosen to write in the most essentially plebian manner. He endured despite that; doubtlessly her insight wouldst be required.

"Stop." Y'sholta held a hand up, halting Urianger. " Are you sensing anything unusual?"

Urianger pulled his goggles on and beheld. Fire, life, both heavily aspected. He conveyed this information to his companion. "I knowst not whence it comes." He looked to the door, beyond which lay the sleeping quarters. "Dost thou think it best we wake them?"

"No. Mayhaps it's best we investigate ourselves before we disturb anyone else. Perhaps Alisaie is trying some new magic." Yet she sounded doubtful.

Urianger shook his head. "Nay. This is not the class of power she doth call upon—yet I feel no sense of malice. My wardings yet stand firm." He opened a call on the linkshell. "Who amongst ye is awake?"

"We are." Alisaie responded. "If you're about to ask us of the aether, we're just testing something. No need to worry."

"Art thou sure? Exhaustion harries thy tone. It is not healthy to push thyself so far." And thus far Thancred had yet to respond; worrisome, considering his precarious state. "We shall be near if thou dost require help."

"No! I mean, no. We do not, in any way, need help. Everything is fine."

Y'sholta frowned and spoke in a voice soft enough that the linkshell did not pray pick her up. "It honestly doesn't sound like everything is fine. We should check on them."

And so they moved. They investigated the magical workrooms (empty) and the desk where Thancred had been researching (books neatly marked, notes stacked, chair pushed in. His worries were, fortunately, for naught; he'd clearly retired for the eve.) 'Twas not until Y'sholta invoked her Sight that they learned that the aether was coming from below. From the storerooms… deep within the storerooms that grew warmer and warmer as they descended, far warmer than they ought to be.

They found the twins there, covered with dust and ashes, guarding a door desperately.

-

Y'sholta Saw. She Saw fire and life in amounts no mortal possessed… and in the midst of it, a man-shaped place with no aether to speak of. Why was Thancred in there? What was he in there with? Why were the twins stopping them? Surely they didn't mean to--

"Explain yourselves," she demanded, walking toward the door.

"We can't," Alisaie said. "But… trust us. This is the only way that remains. The only way we could help him."

And then the aether _intensified, _until she was forced to turn away. And when she could again See without fear, it was fading, all of it, but for a man-shaped place… one that was no longer devoid of aether. She screamed, barely registered that she _was_ screaming, and rushed the door—where she thought the door was—feeling for the handle, and found it. She hissed as it seared her skin, then took a step back, readying spells of frost to cool it. They had to get in there. They had to. Even though she already knew it was too late.

"What didst thou See?" Urianger asked, concern clear in his tone. "The Aether is…."

"I don't—I hope I'm wrong, I hope I'm wrong." The handle groaned as it was cooled, and then it turned from within. The twins watched in silence.

Thancred opened the door and stopped, smelling of smoke and spice. "Well… wasn't expecting company," he said, and she could imagine the grin that normally accompanied that tone. Y'sholta could feel the waves of heat radiating from the room from behind him. "Y'sholta. I'm fine. I'm more than fine. It's all right." His hand clasped on her shoulder, fever-warm. "Calm down. Please."

"Thine eyes." Urianger's voice was controlled, level.

"What's wrong with his eyes?" Y'sholta was utterly unconvinced, still Looking at Thancred. Fire and life. There _was_ no primal of fire and life. Mayhaps her Sight deceived her, mayhap he wasn't lost to them--

"His irises glow and flicker with golden light, as a candle through frosted glass," Urianger explained. "As do the Marks of Knowing on his neck. What didst thou face in there that marked thee so?"

Thancred shook his head. "I cannot say."

"Thou chooseth not?"

"No." Thancred's tone was measured, yet oddly unconcerned. "I _can not_ say."

Urianger was perceptive, voicing the thought before Y'sholta dared to. "Thou art tempered?"

"I am _reborn_." And in his tone there was triumph.

"And thou mayst give neither name nor identity to thy patron."

"He wishes to remain unknown, unworshipped. He is decidedly not Zodiark or otherwise related to the Ascians, to be clear."

"But he _tempered_ you!" Y'sholta protested. "Doesn't that mean—"

"He did it to spare me; a soul can be claimed but once. I asked for this, so I might continue the fight… and I was the one whose idea it was to summon him here. I just needed a little help, as you might imagine." Thancred rubbed his face. "Now… I haven't slept properly in weeks. I'm not going anywhere but my bed; it is His will that my purpose be the same as it has ere been. Can we discuss this by morning's light?"

Y'sholta Looked at him, then at the twins (clearly exhausted, and thankfully free of any apparent influence despite just having summoned an unknown primal. Had they known what they called or for what purpose Thancred intended it?) "…yes. We'll convene in the morning to talk about… whatever happened here tonight." She suspected that it would be afternoon, in truth.

"I will have thy door guarded." Urianger offered a guiding hand, one Y'sholta took gratefully. "I wish thee peaceful dreams."

She did, as well. At least one among them should rest soundly this night.


End file.
